The French Tortoise
by Marie E. Brooke
Summary: I hadn't realized what I had gotten myself into until August, when the full impact of my promise hit me. Hard. / In which Victoire, the self-proclaimed French Tortoise, tries out for track, and gets a pleasant surprise. Muggle!AU. Platonic Teddy/Victoire. Rated K-Plus for light cussing.


_A/N: This was written for the Little League Quidditch Competition, for team Gryffindor, and the Keeper position. I tried to make it extra good, since it was for the finals, and I think I did pretty well. :) Also, thank you to my lovely beta, Red (Redbutterfly33) for her efforts and for finding all those pesky grammatical errors, and giving me advice! You rock!_

 _Without further ado, I present to you..._

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 **The French Tortoise**

 _ **Muggle!AU**_

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As I walk towards the impeccable field of Hogwarts High, holding my notebook in one hand and gym bag in another, I begin to have second thoughts.

I mean, come on! Me, the worst of the worst runners, the _French Tortoise,_ for God's sake, try out for the Hogwarts High track and field team, one of the best teams in our neighborhood? Psh, no! I'll probably get laughed out of the field after they see my infamous "three legged dog" walk – er, run. Yep, they'd laugh me right out of there, all while jeering at me and yelling taunts.

And yet, here I am, heading over to the field to try out for this…blasted sport. Why?

Uncle Charlie. It was _all_ Uncle Charlie.  
Apparently, he was this really great runner back in the day. He was the star of the track team, he told me, and he could've qualified for the Olympics, but he broke his leg real bad, so he couldn't do track and field anymore. At first, I thought he was bluffing — Uncle Charlie? Zookeeper Uncle Charlie? _M_ _on œil!_ — but then he showed me his cabinet full of trophies and medallions and such. Nearly all first prize, with only several silver ones and a glint of copper here and there.

Then, he grabbed my shoulders and looked into my eyes, all serious, and told me in this solemn, very un-Charlie-like voice, "You'll try out for track, right, Vic?" His face was stony, and his brown eyes were steady and without humor; he really _was_ serious about the whole affair.

This was unexpected. Well, not really, considering what I had just witnessed earlier, but startling enough for me to have to blink for a few seconds before my mind fully registered this statement. "Er…I will," I said in what was meant to be a reassuring tone, but it came out as more of a question.

Uncle Charlie cocked his head at me, clearly not pleased with my response. He didn't say anything for a few seconds. Finally, after a terse silence, he spoke.

"Vic," he started, and then sighed. "Vic," he said again, "you do know how much this means to me, right? Running, I mean," he added. "Well, you going to Hogwarts High as well, but mostly the running." I grinned slightly at that, glad to see some of the old Uncle Charlie peeking out from behind this weirdly somber Charlie. "Actually, scratch that, especially you going to Hogwarts High. Thank goodness it isn't that crackpot school that your mother went to—what was it, Bow-batons? Oh well, whatever they were, I didn't like them at all. Though I must admit, they were _hot_. And good kissers, too…" Charlie's expression turned misty, and his eyes grew glassy as they stared off into space.

"Uncle Charlie!" I whacked his head with the heel of my palm, effectively breaking him out of his reverie. "Uncle Charlie, you pervert!"

His expression grew serious again. "Oh…um, anyways," he continued, "I went to Hogwarts High, too. It's sort of a tradition, you see, in our family. The Weasley side of it, anyways. I'm glad you transferred." He smiled. "But…track. It's important to me. Insanely so. " He stared intently at me. "You know." He said this plainly, as if he was confident in this statement. "You'll do it, then, won't you?" He stared at me, waiting for confirmation.

It was then, staring at his brown, slightly pleading (Uncle Charlie was never pleading unless he wanted candy—this applied to all my red-haired uncles, excluding Percy) that I realized the true gravity of the situation. I would be living the dream that Uncle Charlie had worked so hard to come true. Maybe not the dream, but something nonetheless.

It was then when I really did know.

"Yeah, Uncle Charlie, I'll do it," I told him.

He smiled at me, the ends of his eyes crinkling. "Now, that's the spirit!" he cried out and opened his arms. "Now, what about a hug for your old man?" he asked, winking.

"Always, Uncle Charlie," I said, grinning, and went into his arms.

I hadn't realized what I had gotten myself into until August, when school was about to start. It was then when the full impact of my promise hit me. _Hard._

"Uncle Ron," I moaned into the phone, just having finished relaying the whole damned story to him. "What will I do? I've gotten myself into, like, the biggest pile of shit ever."

"Well," came Uncle Ron's voice from the speaker, distorted due to bad Wi-Fi connection, "I'll have you know that I used to be absolutely horrible at running."

My head felt a bit dizzy. I decided that this was due to the overload of new (and rather surprising, I must say) news I had been receiving over the course of the summer—Uncle Charlie, Dad's teenage hairstyle (long, long story), a bunch of other things, and now this? How much had my family been keeping from me, anyway?

"But…you…you have so many awards and stuff from high school!" I spluttered. Unlike Uncle Charlie, Ron flaunted his trophies with absolutely zero shame. It was annoying (to me and the whole family), bordering on infuriating.

"Yeah, well, I worked hard for those," said Uncle Ron. "I sucked at first—I probably wouldn't have gotten into the team, except the captain then insisted on keeping me because of Charlie. I didn't want to disappoint the team, or myself, so I practiced. A lot. And it paid off well." Crackling sounds came from the speaker, indicating that he was probably patting his phone. "You'll be fine. Just work hard."

"Yeah, I'm sure it'll help," I agreed, though I somewhat doubted this. "Just…it's a bit hard to process all,"—I gesticulated even though he couldn't see me—"this. Like, all this family stuff. Like Dad's hair. I'm still getting over that, and it's been a week," I griped. "The image is literally imprinted into my brain!"

Uncle Ron laughed a deep, throaty laugh. "Ha! Well, then, I suppose you'll be surprised to learn that I used to fancy your mother," he said.

My jaw dropped to the ground. "What the—"

"Bye! Gotta go! Good luck on getting into the track and field team!" Uncle Ron hung up, effectively avoiding me.

"FUCK THIS!"

Anyways, here I am now. With my gym bag and my notebook, ready to open should I find the urge to spontaneously design an outfit (in my defense, it has happened before), in tow. With my fingers crossed for luck, because god knows I need it if I want to get on the team. Standing in the field surrounded by other, probably more experienced runners, stretching and chatting amongst each other.

I tug self-consciously on the hem of my shirt. Despite the fact I am dressed in the same gym uniform as all of them (although I was wearing embarrassing sparkly pink leg warmers with a matching headband, per Mom's request) and go to the same school too, I can't help but feel out of place. Normally, I would attribute it to new-kid jitters, but somehow, I knew that wasn't it. I felt [like… such an amateur] around these people who actually had a clue about what they were doing.

God damn, what will I do if I don't get on the team? I can't even imagine how disappointed Charlie would be, or Ron would be, or pretty much all my uncles.  
 _  
God,_ I pray silently, clasping my hands together and getting down on my knees, _grant me a miracle. I'll be good. I won't even blackmail Dad for candy anymore! Although I will allow myself to steal some…but only a little! Not a lot_! I pause for a moment, and, upon seeing no miracles, add, _Okay, I won't steal any. Good? Good._ Then, after a moment of consideration, I add yet another line: _For a month._ There. I hope that God is satisfied.

Now, all I have to do is see if God accepts my offering.

See, I have what you could call a "direct hotline" with God. My mom calls it luck, Dad calls it child's play, but I know better. That one year in kindergarten at a Catholic school sealed my fate, and as long as I pray hard enough, God can help. Of course, I have to be good…which sucks, but it's worth it in the end.

"Hi, I'm the captain of the track team, welcome...Vicky?"

I look up and behold, Teddy Lupin is there, turquoise hair and all.

I grin. I owe you one more, God. Maybe knowing the captain will give me a better chance to get on the team, provided he remembers me from his preschool days. It's cheap, but it works, somewhat. "Teddy," I say, nodding.

"You're here?" Teddy asks in disbelief as a greeting.

"Yeah…is that so hard to believe?" It is, kind of, but I don't tell him that.

"Well, yes," he admits. "I mean, you've never really been fast…" he trails off, looking at me. The grin slides off my face like water. "No offense!" he says hurriedly. "I haven't seen you run in a while, so I don't know your current speed. So, um, why don't you show me your stuff, then?"

I'm surprised that he even remembers me. I nod, appeased. He's about to find out how much I suck. I hope he accepts me into the track team anyways, due to our connections. "Yeah, sure," I say, and jog over to the track. "I start here, right?"

He nods in confirmation. "Yeah. So, just run one lap and I'll time you. In 3, 'kay?" he says. He takes a timer out of his pocket.

"Okay," I say, slightly dazed. It seems a bit sudden, and I'm tempted to just back out, but as they say, carpe diem. Plus, Dad, Mom, Uncle Bill and Uncle Ron are rooting for me. If they discovered that I didn't even try out, I'm sure they would be disappointed as hell with me. Oh, they wouldn't say it to my face (well, maybe Mom, but otherwise, no), but I would be able to tell.

"1, 2…3!" says Teddy, and I take off like a bullet.

Well, not really like a bullet. Maybe something akin to a dog, but oh well.

Anyways, maybe it's Teddy or my family or myself, or a mixture of both, but I manage to retain the beginning speed for a large portion of the lap. By about three-quarters through my vigor has begun to fade away, and my legs feel like lead.

One more length left, Vic, I tell myself, and force my legs to move. It seems like hours until I'm only a few meters away from the finish line, which is really just Teddy, but it holds the same meaning. I manage to summon up a burst of speed from deep within. I pump my legs furiously, and end up collapsing on the ground right after I crossed the finish.

"You alright?" asks Teddy.

I only moan in response.

"Yeah…I'll take that as a no," says Teddy. He eyes me, looking thoroughly amused. I don't have the energy to tell him to lay off—plus, that's not the kind of thing I want to say to the captain of the track team, although I really, really want to—so I settle for glaring at him. "So…you got"—he checks his watch—"two minutes and twenty-two seconds."

"T-That's…good…right?" I say in between pants.

"It's, um, fine." He avoids my gaze.

I wait a few more seconds so I can fully catch my breath before responding. "It was bad, wasn't it," I guess.

"Absolutely horrible," agrees Teddy at once, then attempts to backpedal. "Erm...I mean—"

"It's fine," I interrupt him. "I already know I'm horrible."

Teddy narrows his eyes at me, pocketing the timer. "If you already know you're horrible, then why didn't you try out for a field event? Hell, why did you try out at all? Is this about family tradition or some shit?" he demands.

I ignore his last two questions. "Field event?"

He nods, confused—probably about my lack of knowledge regarding track and field. "Yeah, you know, like shot put, high jump, long jump…" he elaborates.

"Wait," I interject. "Those don't have anything to do with running."

"Well, obviously. It's called Track and _Field,_ not Track." He gives me a _duh_ look. "It's not just running."

"Oh…" I feel a slow smile start to creep on my face _. God, you are amazing._ "So, can I try out for one of them?" I ask hopefully.

"'Course," he scoffs. "I still can't believe you didn't know that there were other events…" he [mutters] under his breath, but I hear him anyways and cuff him lightly on the head. "Anyways," he says, louder this time, "it's not like you would've gotten in with that kind of poor performance."

"Jerk," I say quietly, hoping he doesn't hear.

He does. "Hey, that's your new captain you're talking to," retorts Teddy, glaring at me.

"Wait…new captain?" I ask hopefully.

"Well, you're part of the team, now, right?" Right as I'm about to burst into my victory dance (which is, admittedly, an embarrassing dance), he explains his quick decision making. "The field events aren't as popular as the track events, so you're practically guaranteed a spot if you try out. Well," he says as an afterthought, "maybe not long jump. Long jump is weirdly popular. Maybe even more popular than the track events." He sounds incredulous, as if he can't imagine long jump being better than running.

I consider this. "Well, then. Let's see. I think I'll try out for...oh, I don't know. Surprise me."

He looks at me in surprise. "Um, okay," he says. "Let's see..."

I grin to myself. I can tell it's going to be one hell of a season.

 _Awesome._

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 _A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This was super fun to write and I am actually quite proud of this! Again, thank you Red for betaing! Please check out some of Red's (Redbutterfly33) stories, because she is one awesome writer._

 _Don't forget to review! :)_

 _xoxo Brooke_


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